Tomie was invited to attend a literacy event in NYC, Spring, 2017. He would not be seated on the dais. He would be honored from the floor. The event was to be held at a private social club, formed by the likes of Morgan, Vanderbilt, and Roosevelt, originally for gentlemen, and more recently, women were allowed to become members, begrundgingly, I imagine. The Club’s website listed “House Rules,” including its Dress Code. The list of “don’ts” for women was lengthy. Men: “Gentlemen are required to wear jackets and ties at all times (turtlenecks and ascots are not acceptable).” No mention of pants, socks, shoes. Tomie either chose to ignore the Dress Code or he never saw it. As he stepped out of his Town Car, the doorman said, “You’re not planning on coming in here, are you?” Thus began the battle royale on the sidewalk in front of the Club. From toe to head, NO ITEM of Tomie’s clothing was acceptable. Not shoes. Not socks (GASP: “He’s not wearing socks!” Look closely: beige compression stockings.). Not pants. Not shirt. Not jacket. Not scarf… The arbiters of acceptable attire eventually relented and allowed Tomie to be hidden in a side room with the servers. He could not enter the dining room until cocktail hour was over. But, one of the honorees, a rather forceful woman, saw him and said, “Come out of there. My daughter wants to meet you.” When Tomie returned to New London, he asked Tracey MacKenna of MacKenna’s Family Restaurant to re-enact the scene. He kept coaching her to be meaner. A life full of stories of which I can remember just a few. (Bob)
